


Resonance

by OniGil



Category: Mass Effect, Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Sad killers seeking forgiveness, mentions of Irikah and Wing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-04
Updated: 2014-07-04
Packaged: 2018-02-07 08:54:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1892931
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OniGil/pseuds/OniGil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone in the universe once again, Drift has a chance encounter with a kindred spirit on the planet of Illium.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Resonance

**Author's Note:**

> I realized how much these two have in common, and I really wanted the two of them to meet just once. Even though they make my heart hurt. In the MTMTE timeline, takes place after Issue 16; in the Mass Effect timeline, just before Thane goes after Nassana Dantius.

            The towers of Illium reminded him of home. Cybertron, as it once was: living, breathing, the endless lines of traffic pulsing across its surface. Spires glittering in the light. If he offlined his optics, he could almost convince himself that the hum and bustle of the city around him was the echo of their home, before the end. Nos Astra was like Iacon, on a smaller scale. More to the point, with the afternoon sun lighting the towers on fire, the skyline could be mistaken for New Crystal City.

            Drift had done more than his share of wandering the galaxy from spaceport to spaceport. Easy enough to dull the pain of being cast out by losing himself in the noise of a trade world. Not too many funny looks if he cruised the streets in altmode. Illium was accessible to Cybertronians—Illium welcomed anyone, as long as they could pay, even “synthetics”—but after the long war, their reputation was still sour enough that Drift wanted to keep a low profile. Well, that and other reasons. A lone Cybertronian was vulnerable. A lone, exiled, ex-Decepticon, ex-Autobot was even more so; no need to broadcast his position to the DJD.

            So Illium served multiple uses: a haven full of conflicting signals to scramble his energy signature, a place of entertainments for all manner of species, and a glimpse of a lost homeworld.

            He needed something beyond people-watching today. Drift had grown accustomed to solitude, and although he understood the necessity of going to ground in a populous city, the constant teeming life was really getting into his circuits.

            Fortunately, not everywhere in Nos Astra was nonstop chaos. The crystal gardens were famed halfway around the galaxy: aesthetically engineered to catch the light, to hum and chime with the air currents. For an organic species, the asari had impeccable taste. This was the sort of thing that would make Wing would dissolve in glee.

            (Drift’s Spark gave a twinge. He was thinking a lot about Wing lately.)

            He parked just on the verge of the gardens, scanning the area. Some organics wandering through the crystals. The gardens would technically accommodate a mech Drift’s size, but he was tired of dirty looks. He activated his hard-light avatar instead, wavering for a moment between the asari and human templates. Finally he settled on human—somehow more comforting. Unlike some bots, Drift was actually fond of his holomatter form. There was just something about “clothes” that he found fascinating. Like a new paintjob, but quicker and easier. Organics could change their entire silhouette without needing a full reformat, go from one person to another just by adjusting the coverings they put on their bodies.

            The solitude soothed him as he walked among the humming crystals. Light refracted orange and purple, patterning the walkways. The whole atmosphere was probably doing wonders for his aura.

            Drift settled down on his wheels, relaxing his true body. This would be as good a place as any to spend a long Illium night. As long as nobody tried to “steal” him. The last vorcha to try had been terrified out of his wits when his target snarled at him.

            His holomatter avatar attracted no attention, so he took all the time he wanted, wandering leisurely through the crystals. So peaceful, yet—raw. Something in the way the area was arranged, the hum of the crystals, dug up all of the melancholy emotions from his Spark. Drift knew, he’d read enough stupid self-help manuals and caught enough half-geared spiritual broadcasts to understand, that dredging up negative feelings, laying them out in front of him, was the only way to heal. But the sting of being cast out was still too near. He didn’t _want_ to face these emotions. Not yet. He wanted to keep running.

            _That’s what you’re good at, isn’t it, Drift?_ Deadlock’s voice mocked in his head. _Running away. Running from your past, your crimes, your friends you let down…_

            He paused. There was an organic in an open space, standing at the exact point where the acoustics of the crystals converged. A solitary figure, hands clasped behind his back. Eyes closed. Drift knew meditation when he saw it. He backtracked, but the organic spoke.

            “Please. No need to leave on my account.” It was a dry, rattling voice that reminded Drift of dust caught in his vents.

            “I don’t want to disturb you.”

            “This is the best place to listen,” the organic said. “And I believe you need this place as much as I.”

            “What makes you say that?”

            “We are both lost.”

            The organic turned to look at him. Bipedal, with reptilian features: a hairless skin of fine green scales, a flat nose, large, expressive dark eyes. Drift wracked his database. Hanar? No, drell. His dark clothes, pulled in tight to his lean frame, spoke of hard use in an active lifestyle.

            The organic’s lips twitched into a smile. “Come as you truly are. I find it difficult to talk to holograms.”

            “How did you know?” Drift asked, examining his avatar for errors.

            “Practice,” the drell said.

            Drift deactivated his holoform. It was possible that the organic’s attitude would change when he saw a Cybertronian, but somehow Drift doubted it. The organic had the look of someone who has seen everything the universe could offer.

            He transformed to root mode, gratefully stretching limbs that had been in altmode all day. The drell watched him calmly as he made his way back through the garden paths. He remained the image of serenity even when he had to crane his neck back to look up. Drift settled politely onto his knees to get closer to the organic’s eye-level.

            The drell put a hand on his chest. “Thane Krios,” he said.

            “Drift.”

            Thane smiled. “Fitting.”

            “How did you know I was… am… lost?” Drift asked.

            “I know what it is to lose my way. Besides…” Thane gestured towards the humming crystals. “The gardens attract a certain type.”

            He sat cross-legged facing Drift, resting his hands on his knees. “Would you rather meditate in silence? If that is the case, forgive me. I’m afraid it’s been a long time since I’ve had the chance to talk. I may be out of practice.”

            “I know the feeling,” Drift said, bitterly.

            Thane’s dark eyes watched him. “Tell me.”

            Drift let the soft hum of the crystals fill him. “I’ve been on my own for a while. I…”

            How could he explain any of this? How could he tell a stranger anything about what had happened on the Lost Light? The friends he’d tried to meet, the good he’d tried to do, and the sacrifice he’d made for Rodimus. Better to leave that wound alone—it was too fresh. His thoughts traveled back in time. Before the Lost Light. Before the Autobots.

            “I’ve done things I’m not proud of,” he said instead. “I’ve tried to make it right. But it seems like all I can do is go in circles. No matter what I try…” It always seemed to go wrong.

            Thane inclined his head. “It seems we have much in common. In the past I was a different person. I allowed myself to be used. I told myself that I was merely a weapon, and that the pain I caused was not on my conscience.”

            Drift’s hands twitched in discomfort. The way Deadlock had flung himself into the Decepticon cause, clinging to a higher calling to justify the deaths on his head…

            “Then I met someone who changed that.” Thane smiled wryly. “Changed me. She brought me from my trance. She taught me that my actions were my own responsibility.” He paused to cough. “Excuse me. She showed me happiness I never believed I could feel.”

            He looked down, lapsing into silence.

            “What happened?” Drift prompted.

            “My past returned to haunt us both,” Thane said. “I had made many enemies. They came for her and I… I was not there to protect her.”

            Drift’s plating rattled, surprising them both. He had not expected to have such a visceral reaction, but the story struck something deep inside him, thrust a cold spear into his Spark. His vocalizer spat static.

            “I—I’m sorry. I understand. Someone found me at my lowest point. He opened my eyes. He tried to teach me so many things, and I hardly listened. I’d made enemies too, and they came for me. He… they killed him.”

            His throat burned. He’d never spoken of Wing to anyone. Somehow he hadn’t believed the Autobots would understand.

            “I always thought,” he said, the words coming with difficulty, “that if I had been faster… if I had been better…”

            “…that I could have saved her,” Thane whispered.

            “And ever since, I’ve tried to atone. I’ve done everything I can. I’ve tried to right my wrongs. I’ve tried to be the person he saw in me. But all I’ve done is change who I killed for. All I can do is kill. It’s…”

            “…the only thing I know how to do. But in the end, it’s just more blood on my hands,” Thane said. “All I can do is beg forgiveness.” He bowed his head, his words barely audible over the humming crystals. “Kalahira, mistress of inscrutable depths…”

            Drift had tried that route. He’d done everything he’d thought he was supposed to, and yet—and yet New Crystal City still lay in ruins, its people vanished. If Primus were truly out there, would he allow that? After everything that had happened, Drift wasn’t sure he _did_ believe any more. The only forgiveness he could find wouldn’t come from a deity, but from those around him. And he had sacrificed any chance at that when he left the Lost Light.

            “The one who saved you,” he said finally, when Thane’s prayer had vanished into the crystal song. “What was her name?”

            “Irikah,” Thane said, in a sigh of breath, a prayer even more raw and honest than the one before. “Yours?”

            “Wing,” Drift said. He expected the sting of pain, but—it wasn’t bad. “His name was Wing.” He hesitated, then slowly drew the Great Sword from his back and laid it across his knees. “This was his.”

            “He was a warrior?”

            “Yes. In… in a way. He would fight for those who couldn’t.”

            “He sounds like a siha,” Thane said. “A warrior angel of the goddess Arashu.”

            “Siha,” Drift said, testing the word. “That sounds like him. He would get so passionate and righteous about protecting the innocent and…”

            He caught himself smiling. How long had it been since Wing’s memory had made him smile?

            Thane glanced up for permission, then reached out to touch the blue gem in the sword’s hilt. “You carry him with you.”

            The gem glimmered faintly with Drift’s emotions. Thane sucked in a surprised gasp that became a racking cough.

            “Are you all right?” Even as he asked, Drift ran an automatic scan on the organic. It would give him basic vitals on over a hundred different species—nowhere near as sophisticated as Ratchet’s equipment.

            “Please, forgive me,” Thane said. “It comes and goes. I’m dying.”

            He said it so matter-of-factly that it took Drift a moment to process. “Dying?”

            “It is a common illness among my kind,” Thane said. “I have months at most. You can see why I hope to atone for my crimes. I have little time left. I want to make a difference before I pass.”

            “Wing said something similar to me once,” Drift said. A vivid memory: morning in New Crystal City, the light on the line of Wing’s shoulder fins. His easy smile, the grace with which he held himself: not studied or contrived, but natural as venting air. His lips moving: “The universe is a dark place. I want to make it brighter before I die.”

            Wing did it just by living. Drift… was still trying.

            Thane’s inner eyelids blinked sideways as he studied his fingers lying on the sword.

            “I would have liked to meet your Wing,” he said.

            “And I’d have like to meet Irikah,” Drift said.

            Thane stood, turning towards the cityscape, where a pair of towers stood against the evening skyline.

            “Thank you for your company and your words,” he said. “I have… an appointment to keep.”

            “Thank you,” Drift said. “It’s been a long time since I met a kindred spirit. I… I’ve never told anyone about Wing.”

            “You should let his memory be a happy one,” Thane said. “And I… I will try to bring light to this universe in what little time I have left.”

            “Good luck, Thane.”

            “And to you, Drift. May we both find our way.”

            Like a shadow, he was gone, leaving only a whispering echo in the crystals. Drift studied the sword on his knees. His pain laid out in front of him. It was time to stop running.

            “Well, Wing,” he murmured, as the crystals caught his voice in their song. “Siha,” he added, a grin—his first since his exile—tugging at his mouthplates. “You’d be angry at me for giving up. I’ll keep moving. But for now… just for now… let’s enjoy the garden.”

            The blue gem shimmered in the light.


End file.
